


Rosemary, Mint and Lavender

by wanderingscholarlad



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Bookshop owner Booker, Chronically Ill Nicky, F/F, Food Historian Nicky, HoH Nicky, M/M, PhD Candidate Nile, Professor Joe, Professor Quynh, Restoration Expert Andy, Service Dog - Frank, Service Dogs, Torpedo the Cat, University AU, author gets nerdy about her favourite books, lots of cooking as a way to express love, tender domesticity, this is the most self indulgent thing i've ever written
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-25
Updated: 2020-09-18
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:55:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26083042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wanderingscholarlad/pseuds/wanderingscholarlad
Summary: When Nile decided on doing a PhD in Rotterdam and went through the process of applying, she had imagined meetings with her supervisor as the two of them looking over her research and her sighing in frustration at what an uphill battle the - necessary but endless - revisions they decided on would be.What Nile hadn’t particularly anticipated was that so much of being a PhD candidate would be drinking cups of truly excellent mint tea in Professor al Kaysani’s office and being asked about how she felt about her academic career and life in general.
Relationships: Andy | Andromache of Scythia/Quynh | Noriko, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 138
Kudos: 294





	1. Mint Tea & Jam

**Author's Note:**

> This is by far the most self indulgent thing I have ever written. Also, the university system is roughly based on the Australian university system but they live in Rotterdam because I love Rotterdam and wanted Joe and Nicky to live in a canal house. Did I mention it is incredibly self indulgent?

When Nile decided on doing a PhD in Rotterdam and went through the process of applying, she had imagined meetings with her supervisor as the two of them looking over her research and her sighing in frustration at what an uphill battle the - necessary but endless - revisions they decided on would be. 

What Nile hadn’t particularly anticipated was that so much of being a PhD candidate would be drinking cups of truly excellent mint tea in Professor Al Kaysani’s office and being asked about how she felt about her academic career and life in general. 

He’s currently asking her if she has a cat? 

“No? A dog? Dogs are very good for the soul.”

“No pets, my apartment isn’t big enough. Besides, I only just moved here.” 

She’s smiling though, for all the unexpectedness of Professor al Kaysani asking her about pets, he really is ridiculously kind and invested in her succeeding with her PhD.   
  
Okay, so Professor al Kaysani - Joe, she reminds herself, _he keeps telling you to call him Joe_ \- is a bit of an eccentric mum friend. He is, however, also one of the most well respected experts on postcolonial art history, and she thanks God constantly for him and the work he’s been doing in the field. She’d put his name down as a prospective supervisor as a shot in the dark more than anything, the potential of working with a queer academic in her chosen field far too wonderful a prospect not to. She had screamed on the phone to Dizzy for hours when she’d been accepted.   
  
His office is perfectly chaotic, piles and piles of books everywhere and sketches pinned up between the windows. It feels lived in and cozy, and she knows that the two of them breaking into his stash of tea is helping her feel at ease. They’ve been through her preliminary research without too much of a hitch, and he’s excited for what she’s thinking about focusing on. They’re just talking now, because Joe doesn’t have a class for a little while and he likes actually knowing his PhD students as people instead of just by their research. He only takes one candidate at a time, and he’s pretty intense about the whole thing, but Nile supposes that when you are that good in your field you’re allowed to be a bit of an eccentric.   
  
Nile leaves almost a full hour later, having talked about moving from the States and the chaos of it and how glad she is to have found a decent roommate and an apartment that’s walking distance from the uni. She’s quickly realised that in order to get around Rotterdam, she does really need to get a bike but she hasn’t really had the time yet. It’s brisk already and threatening to rain, even though it’s barely September, but she guesses that’s just part of moving to the Netherlands - constant rain.   
  
When she gets home, Jay, her roommate, is face down on the couch.

“You okay?”

“I’m contemplating whether choosing to study migratory patterns of swallows was actually a good idea - I’ve heard the seventh Monty Python reference from the undergrads I’m teaching already. It’s week one, Nile - WEEK ONE?”

Nile laughs and goes to put the kettle on, they could both use a cup of tea apparently.   


* * *

  
  
Nicky’s in the kitchen when Joe gets home from work, which isn’t uncommon. It’s hard to tell if he’s making dinner or working on a project from where Joe has paused by the front door to kick his boots off. Joe isn’t sure if Nicky will have his hearing aids in but he trusts that Frank will have alerted Nicky to the door opening so he isn’t surprised when Nicky calls out.

“Hello! I’m working on a thing -” Nicky cuts himself off half way through his sentence, swearing sharply, and Joe shakes his head with a fond smile. If it’s anything like the last project Nicky attempted, they’ll be having kebabs for dinner because the entire kitchen is a bombsite of Nicky testing new recipes or historically accurate cooking methods. Frank comes bounding into the entry hall and Joe crouches down to pet his ears and say hi. Their chunky labrador flops down and rolls over to get his belly rubbed before he is up and headed back towards the kitchen, rarely leaving Nicky’s side for long.   
  
Joe hangs up his scarf and follows Frank through the living room and into the kitchen, which is far cleaner than he’d anticipated. Nicky’s got oven gloves on and is looking just a little manic but leans in for a kiss and gestures at his ears to let Joe know he can hear him. Nicky does usually put his hearing aids in when Joe is about to get home so they can chat about their days, but sometimes he’ll get caught up in what he’s doing and won’t bother. Sign language works well enough for both of them and the conversation they have as Joe makes a cup of tea and debriefs is familiar enough that Nicky doesn’t need to focus too hard on lipreading. If he wants to keep working on a project though, the hearing aids help.   
  
Nicky finishes stirring whatever he’s got bubbling away on the stove, something vaguely sweet smelling, and flops down opposite Joe with a smile.

“I’m making jam,” he explains, looking content.

“For any particular reason?”

“No - well kind of? I read that the oldest known jam recipe dates to the first century AD when I was doing research for my chapter. So I had to make some and see?”

“Naturally,” Joe can’t help but smile. Some of Nicky’s whims are a little random but he isn’t going to complain about having homemade jam in the house.   
  
“How was your first meeting with Nile?” Nicky’s day was kind of boring beyond the jam making, he worked on his book and took Frank for a walk but nothing exciting, so he’s far more interested in Joe’s new PhD candidate.

“Good, good - her thesis is really promising and she’s really lovely. I told her she should get a dog.”

“Of course. Oh and did you see Quynh today? I wanted to ask them to dinner on Sunday.”

“I didn’t - I think she’s working from home on Thursdays now.”

“Hmm, I’ll text her.”

There’s a comfortable pause as Nicky reaches for his phone and Joe grabs himself a glass of water, brushing a hand over Nicky’s shoulder as an affectionate little hello. 

“What do you want to do for dinner tonight, habibi?” Normally Nicky is well into cooking dinner when Joe gets home, but not today. He wouldn't be opposed to going out for dinner, or even having takeaway and watching a film. 

“Can we go out? Maybe to Bazar? I’ve been thinking about falafel all week.”

“Bazar sounds perfect,” Joe squeezes Nicky’s hand and takes a moment to marvel at their life. They’re married, with a house and a dog, and a favourite restaurant for midweek meals out. It feels like only yesterday that they were uni students themselves, and only recently together, and dates were walking through the park and bashfully holding hands. Now they’re old marrieds laughing at Frank chasing after a soft toy Joe threw for him. 

Joe supposes that bliss really is watching Nicky swear at his jam.   



	2. Sunlit Mornings ft Frank and Torpedo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An interlude for softness and some time spent at Andy and Quynh's house

Sunlight bathes the kitchen, pouring through the ceiling high windows and highlighting the warm wooden floor. Joe is standing at the stove, Nicky plastered against his back - both with some truly impressive bed head. Nicky’s feet, as always in two pairs of socks, slide a little bit when Joe sways and he hides a chuckle against Joe’s shoulder. If he turns his head a little he can see Frank lying in a sun patch, chocolate fur gleaming caramel in the light. The labrador is attacking his latest stuffed toy with relish and the sight warms Nicky as much as the sunlight does. He feels the rumble in Joe’s chest and looks up curiously, but it’s clear from how Joe is moving, that he’s singing, not talking. Nicky’s almost tempted to get his hearing aids. Joe’s voice, even filtered through the flattening technology of his hearing aids, is a treat. But he’s warm, and comfortable, and the rumble is just as musical as the signing could ever be to him.   
He shifts again, so he can press his face more firmly against Joe’s back and Joe drops a hand down to squeeze one of his and settle it over his sternum so Nicky can feel Joe’s voice rumble against both hand and cheek. They sway together and Nicky figures they’re listening to some of the jazz that Joe’s been really into lately - it’s a little more fast paced than Joe’s usual breakfast music but it's mellow enough for a lazy Sunday morning. 

They’ll go to the park later with Frank, maybe drop in on Andy and Quynh for coffee. If they have time and the inclination they’ll stop at their favourite bookstore. Nicky thinks about his pile of books next to their bed and decides he could probably add three more before it was a ridiculous amount of books. They’re better at buying books than reading them, and struggle to walk past a bookstore without going in.   
The mushrooms Joe is sauteing are starting to smell divine and even Frank is perking up at them. Nicky grumbles but shifts away to put the toast on, smiling when Joe catches his hand and kisses his palm softly before he lets go.  
Nicky loves every minute of his life with Joe, but when he’s feeling particularly sappy, he will admit that Sunday mornings are particularly special. Maybe it’s the lapsed Catholic in him, but a few glasses of wine in, he’d go as far as to call their morning rituals holy and just smile brilliantly when Joe teases him for being introspective.  
He sets the table once the toast is on, getting distracted patting Frank and then washing his hands for the third time that morning. He can’t help it when Frank gives him that soft doleful look. He deserves all the cuddles, he wants. Joe teases him for it, but for all his teasing, Joe is an equally soft touch with Frank.

Breakfast, on the weekends, is eaten at the breakfast nook. It’s a little spot that Joe insisted on when they renovated the house and one of Nicky’s favourite places to curl up with a book in summer. Sunlight illuminates it perfectly at midmorning and they sit kitty corner to each other, knees knocking together as they pour juice and playfully grab for the salt and pepper. Eventually, everything is just so and ready, and they tuck into breakfast. Nicky murmurs a thanks to Joe, revelling in the food. He might be the chef in this relationship, but Joe’s breakfasts are divine. Perfectly seasoned, perfectly cooked and made with love, Nicky would pick breakfast at home over breakfast at a restaurant every time.  
Nicky tangles his feet with Joe’s and grins blissfully when Joe gives him a tender look. Even morning lazy, he can always lip read well enough with Joe. In the early days of their relationship, Nicky would rush to put his hearing aids in as soon as they woke up, awkward about his hearing. Now, he leaves them off until he’s ready to put them on and deal with all the hubbub. His quiet world is comfortable and as much as he loves Joe’s voice, he’s not always ready to cope with noise this early in the day. So, in the mornings, and again before bed when he’s tired, he reads Joe’s words. They change from day to day but the meaning is always the same. “I love you.”  
He signs it back, conscious that he’s got a mouthful of food. Joe laughs and Frank rolls onto his back to demand belly rubs and life is perfect.

* * *

  
They visit Andy and Quynh after a wander through the park and a stop at the bookshop. One that they promised wouldn’t happen this time; but, it really is impossible to walk past a good bookshop. The women have recently adopted a cranky cat who Nicolo is fascinated by. He never had pets growing up and Torpedo, the cranky tabby, is aloof at the best of times. Quynh says it’s because Frank usually comes with them and even when he doesn’t, Torpedo can probably smell the dog on them. 

Frank is with them today, and as soon as his vest is off, he’s wriggling with excitement and joy at being cuddled. He’d been let loose at the park but he always acts like having his vest taken off is the greatest freedom he’s ever experienced. Nicky is continuously indulgent. Frank opens up so many doors for him and gives him an extra layer of autonomy that he thrives with. The least he can do is provide all the opportunities for affection. He scritches under Frank’s chin and flops onto his favourite armchair, tugging a throw blanket over his lap. It’s one Quynh knitted, in one of her more frantic procrastination phases. She’d been working on her latest book, the inherent homoeroticism of Austen heroes, and had knitted a square for every chapter. He smoothes a hand over it, admiring how neat the stitches are and remembering how wild Quynh had been knitting it and ranting about whatever she was stuck on. He’s constantly cold and he appreciates her tendency to stress knit. Joe sprawls out across the squashy couch they rescued from the street and reupholstered in a worn blue fabric almost five years ago and flings an arm over his eyes.  
Andy grouses from the kitchen, they’d told her it was too early for wine so she’s reluctantly putting the kettle on. 

Joe sits up a bit and starts talking to Quynh about faculty gossip and PhD students so Nicky tunes them out, considering getting the book he just bought out of his bag and reading. No one would mind if he did, they treat each other's living rooms as their own for the most part.  
Just as he’s making up his mind to do it, he gets a lapful of fluff. He stares down at the cat in shock. She hasn’t even let him pat her and now she’s sitting on him and watching him intently.  
“You took her blanket. That’s her chair now,” Quynh explains with a grin. The cat runs the household already.   
Nicky shrugs a little and tentatively puts a hand out for Torpedo to sniff. She investigates for a few moments and then claws her way up to curl up against his chest, kneading a moment before turning around and settling. He gets whacked in the nose by her tail a few times but it’s worth it. An antisocial cat claiming you for affection is one of the beautiful things in the world, and he will not complain about it. He strokes her absently, revelling in the silky fur under his hand and he almost jumps when she starts vibrating, eyes going huge. He looks up at Quynh in bewilderment. Torpedo is - purring? He’s fairly sure she is, even if his hearing aids clearly think its ambient noise and filter it out.

Quynh just smiles and goes back to pestering Joe about the Head of Visual Arts, who is apparently leaving extremely soon. There’s going to be an internal bun fight over the job, but Joe doesn’t want it, so Nicky isn’t too concerned by it.  
Andy brings out tea and passes him a cup, mint sweetened with just the right amount of honey. She scratches Torpedo between the ears and jokes that of course the cat likes Nicky, they’re the same kind of character.   
Nicky logically knows that Torpedo is purring and that it is just a happy cat noise, but he’s never had a cat purr near enough to him for him to feel it before. He’s enchanted by it. It rumbles through his entire chest and the weight of Torpedo on him is equally as comforting as the sensation. He could probably fall asleep here, he muses, he’ll try not to though. A nap would be bad for sleeping tonight.  
He tunes back into the conversation and finds Joe watching him with an amused smile.

“Yes?”  
“I asked how you felt about The Lost Art of Scripture, love. You read that last month, right?”  
“Yes - it was good? Broad and not extremely detailed, but interesting? Who wants to read it?”  
“Andy was thinking about it.”  
“You’d hate it. Go read a war history instead,” Nicky grins as he says it, knows how much Andy hates war biographies. She would hate the book as much though.  
“Why?”  
“It’s too religious for you, Andy. Go read about bees and get your own beehive instead.” Nicky knows he’s probably sparking a whole new interest for Andy, who loves esoteric hobbies as much as she loves her job in art restoration.   
“Oh don’t tempt her,” Quynh groans, pulling Andy closer to her chest and kissing her hair, “She’s going to buy ten books on bees before dinner if I let her out the door.”  
“Then don’t let her,” Joe laughs.  
“I can’t! You know how she is when she’s determined. Nicky, what have you done?”  
Nicky smiles as angelically as possible and ignores Quynh’s grumbling to look over at Joe who winks and turns back to the others, “I’m sure you could distract Andy, if you really wanted to. Or are you going to tell me she would choose bees over you shirtless?”  
Nicky hides his laugh in his mug of tea, knowing he’s done a poor job of it as soon as he sees Quynh’s face go outraged.   
“Excuse you, Yusuf -” it’s in good fun, if she was actually mad about Joe poking fun at her sex life, she wouldn’t still be snuggled up to Andy like that, besides, her lips are quivering against the need to smile - “I’ll have you know that Andromache’s brain shorts out when I take my shirt off. There will be no thoughts of bees for hours.” Quynh looks smug and Andy looks thoughtful and it’s Joe’s turn to groan.  
“Come on, Nicolo, let’s go home and leave these two to their nonsense.”  
“But I can’t move the cat?” Nicky protests and Joe smiles fondly.  
“We’ll be back on Thursday, and you can cuddle her all you like then.”

Nicky grouses a little but carefully moves Torpedo and stands up, shifting a little to check that all his joints feel in a good place before he puts proper weight on anything. He shifts his hips slightly, feeling them pop into place and knowing by the pained look on Andy’s face that it made a truly grotesque sound. His hearing aids filter out most excess noise and most of the sounds his body makes count as excess apparently. Quynh is never phased by the weird crunching his body does and Joe lives with him, and has for too long to still be grossed out by Nicky’s hips realigning.

Nicky calls Frank over and clips his leash on, not bothering with the vest for the short walk home. They say their goodbyes and head home, considering their plans for the evening as they walk hand in hand. The sun is starting to set earlier again, but it’s still blissfully warm.  
“Dinner and a movie?” Nicky suggests, Joe has classes to teach tomorrow and Nicky has a new recipe to test but a movie won’t push their sleep schedules too badly.  
“Why, Nicky, are you asking me on a date?”  
“Yes, I think I am.”  
“Will you walk me home after?”  
“Always.”  
“Then I guess I have to say yes.”


	3. All Crises Can Be Solved With Homemade Apple Crumble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes when you have a total breakdown about your PhD methodology, your supervisor's husband foists enough apple crumble for four people on you... and other ways in which Nile Freeman is fairly sure her PhD experience is extremely not universal.

Nile isn’t entirely sure how she ended up having dinner at Joe’s place. Her laptop has been abandoned in Joe’s beautiful home office, and she’s having dinner with her PhD supervisor, his husband and two of their friends, one of whom is also a professor at her uni. She’s fairly sure this is not the experience of most PhD candidates. She’s not exactly going to complain about it though, it’s the first proper home cooked meal she’s had in weeks. 

Nicky, Joe’s husband, is a food historian, which apparently involves a lot of testing historically accurate recipes on their friends. Nile is extremely impressed by the 18th Century French food he’s made for dinner. He’d insisted it was nothing, just a regular weekend dinner and she wouldn’t be intruding. She had initially protested when they had asked if she’d like to stay for dinner, she’s got leftovers at home and they weren’t expecting her surely. 

“Nonsense, Nicky will have made enough for a small army, besides, you’d offend him if you turned down his cooking,” Joe says, smiling widely and Nile already knows she’s going to cave. Her leftovers aren’t the most exciting, she and Jay can cook like six meals between them if they’re generous about it, and whatever’s roasting in the oven does smell divine.

She’d been having an absolute meltdown about how this one chapter of her thesis was progressing and called Joe about it - he’d told her she should feel comfortable calling him if she got stuck on anything but up until this point she’s stuck to emailing him and dropping in during office hours. This is an absolute panic though, she’s come across a journal article that might mean she has to completely throw out her whole PhD argument - baby, and bathwater, and all - and she is definitely panicking more than a little. 

Joe is so calm on the phone though, doesn’t even mind that Nile has called him at five oclock on a Saturday. 

“I know it’s nowhere near office hours, and I’m so so sorry,” She reiterates and Joe laughs a little.

“Honestly Nile, it’s okay - I gave you my number for this exact reason. Look, why don’t you come over? I can’t work this out over the phone, and it’ll go more smoothly for both of us if we sit down with a cup of tea.”   
“You’re sure?”

“One hundred percent. So long as you don’t mind that our dog will probably try and smother you with love, everything will be fine.”   
“Alright.”

So that’s how Nile had found herself standing in front of a classic Rotterdam canal house less than four blocks from the Kabouter, clutching her laptop and a bottle of apology wine to her chest. She takes a deep breath and knocks on the door. A barking immediately starts up from behind the door and soon afterward, Joe is throwing it open, hunched over slightly to hold onto the collar of an enthusiastic chocolate labrador. He sounds a little exasperated when he greets her but it is very clearly aimed at the dog rather than her.   
“Hi Nile, this is Frank. Frank, this is Nile, please be polite.” 

Nile can’t help but smile, a little bit of the thesis anxiety easing up as she steps inside and passes Joe the wine so she can crouch down and rumple Frank’s ears.

“He’s called Frank?”

“Short for Francis, after the saint - my husband’s a lapsed Catholic,” Joe explains with a fond shrug and Nile absently touches her crucifix necklace. 

“I’m sorry for barging in like this, I brought apology wine,” she explains, gesturing to the bottle he’s holding.   
“Honestly, it’s no stress - though I won’t complain about being bribed with wine. Come on through and I’ll put this in the fridge and introduce you to the others before we get into work stuff.”

There’s three people in the kitchen. A man who Nile recognises from the framed photos in Joe’s office, with his haired pulled off his face and an apron on, gesturing with a spatula. There’s two women in the kitchen with him. A tall woman with short dark hair is leaning against the counter with a beer in one hand, gesturing equally wildly with her free hand. The other woman is shorter with long hair. Nile thinks she recognises the second woman from around uni. She’s sitting on the counter, watching the other two argue about cooking times fondly. Joe theatrically rolls his eyes at Nile, who can’t help but smile.

“Guys, this is Nile Freeman, my PhD student. Nile, this is my husband Nicky. Quynh Scythia, who you might recognise from uni, she’s a professor of literature, and her wife, Andy. Andy’s in art restoration, you should pester her about your thesis after we’ve sorted everything out.”

They make polite small talk while Joe makes two cups of tea. Nile notices how everyone faces Nicky while they’re talking when possible and subconsciously mimics that. She hadn’t noticed his hearing aids at first, they’re mostly covered by his hair, but once she does she shifts how she’s talking slightly. It’s nothing exaggerated, she just makes sure not to put her hands in front of her face and makes sure he can lip read if he wants to. Joe passes her a mug of tea and leads her to the home office, joking about how he thought she’d never escape Quynh’s interrogation about her thesis. Frank follows after the two of them for a moment, curious about where they’re going, before deciding to stay in the kitchen.

“He’s probably going to go beg Nicky for treats.”

They get themselves sorted around the big desk, folding into comfy chairs, and jump right into what’s trying to solve the problem at hand. After about forty minutes of totally forgetting their tea, Nile is feeling heaps better about how to fit that pesky article that could have derailed everything into her methodology.

“I feel so stupid -” she admits with a shrug, “like I made a huge fuss over nothing.” In hindsight, the way they’ve worked the article into her argument seems so clear and logical that she’s kicking herself for not seeing it earlier.

Joe pats her shoulder, “Hey, it wasn’t nothing and you just needed me to help untangle some stuff so you could do most of the fixing on your own. That’s my job, Nile. Let me do it, okay?”

“Alright. Sorry for interrupting dinner.”

“It’s fine, Andy and Quynh practically live here anyway. It’s not a special occasion or anything. You should definitely stay for dinner.”

And that’s how Nile finds herself helping carry plates out to the table and chatting to Quynh who is absolutely lovely, even if Jay swears up and down that she’s extremely intimidating. Jay is doing a PhD in ecological sciences but she took a million literature subjects as an undergrad and had Quynh for a whole bunch of them. It’s weirdly easy to talk to all of them and at the sight and smell of the dinner Nicky has cooked, Nile is extremely glad she agreed to stay.

Dinner is absolutely lovely and there’s even homemade dessert, which feels like such an indulgence for Nile, who has gotten used to her dodgy little gas oven that barely cooks frozen tater tots properly, let alone baked goods. Nicky’s made apple crumble with homemade vanilla ice cream and whiskey butterscotch sauce, which is apparently anachronistic for 18th Century France apparently, but Nile could not care less about whether or not it’s anachronistic when it’s this wonderful. She says as much and Nicky positively lights up, looking a little abashed at having his cooking complimented so openly.

“Come on, Nicky, we tell you your food is great all the time,” Quynh says with a laugh and a little “isn’t he ridiculous” look at Nile.

“Yeah but you’re family, you have to,” Nicky shrugs in defence of his reaction and everyone rolls their eyes at him. Conversation devolves into fond ribbing and soon afterwards Nile’s protesting that she really can’t have seconds and that she needs to cycle home before it gets too dark.

She finds herself laughing as she gets gently pushed out the door, laptop tucked under one arm and a tupperware of homemade apple crumble under the other.

“Enough for you and your roommate,” Nicky had promised as he handed it to her. Nicky’s definition of enough for two is Nile’s definition of enough for four.

Nile shoots Jay a quick text to let her know she’s on her way home and wraps her scarf more securely around her neck, giving one last wave to where Joe and Nicky are standing on the stoop.

* * *

Jay is sprawled out over the kitchen table when Nile gets home, laptop open with her PhD research up but actually just watching The Dragon Prince on her phone.

“Needed a dose of wholesome cartoon lesbians?” Nile asks knowingly.

“Look, it isn’t my fault that General Amaya makes literally everything better. How was your meeting?”

“Good, Joe helped fix everything and I stayed for dinner. I brought apple crumble home,” she offers up the tupperware and Jay looks at it so longingly. Even though she’s ridiculously full already, Nile cracks open the tupperware and grabs two spoons.

“Let’s move to the couch and watch Amaya fix everything on the big screen?”

They watch two episodes in relative peace and then Nile turns to Jay with a sigh, “I want that lifestyle one day.”

Jay looks between Nile and the screen in bewilderment for a moment - “Oh you mean like Joe has? I thought you meant a Xadian lifestyle for a moment there.”

“Yeah no, the lifestyle Joe has. He’s a professor, he’s happily married, they have a dog and they have their lesbian friends over for dinner on weekends. Like that just sounds ideal?”

“It does.”

They sit in silence for a moment and then Jay smiles broadly, “Well think about it this way, you’re actively working towards having that lifestyle right now. Taking breaks to watch good queer tv is just part of that work.”

Nile leans her head against Jay’s shoulder - sometimes she misses home a lot, misses Dizzy a ton, but sitting on her dodgy second hand couch with Jay and a blanket over their laps is pretty good. This apartment in Rotterdam is swiftly becoming a home for her as well.

* * *

Nicky’s stacking the dishwasher when Joe comes back from taking Frank out, Quynh and Andy went home shortly after Nile did. They joke that they’ve gotten extremely old and just want to be in bed by ten pm these days. They’d teased Nile about it, saying that soon she would be an old lady like the rest of them. Finishing your PhD apparently marks the progression from spry young thing to elderly and decrepit, if Quynh is to be believed at least.

Nicky likes stacking the dishwasher because it’s a small household task he can manage even on bad days. Vacuuming is sometimes okay too, but sometimes pulling the vacuum along, pulls at his shoulders in a way that’s bad. Stacking the dishwasher, however, is very manageable. Joe hates doing the dishes too, so it’s a moment of quiet reciprocity that Nicky appreciates.

Joe wraps his hands around Nicky’s waist once he gets back in, leaning his chin on Nicky’s shoulder and waits for Nicky to finish and turn around so they can chat.

“That was nice,” he murmurs, tucking Nicky’s hair behind his ear and kissing his cheek.

“Yeah, I like Nile a lot,” Nicky smiles softly, wrapping his arms around Joe’s waist and rocking the two of them in place. Joe takes the hint and links his hand with Nicky’s, pressing their cheeks together and letting Nicky lead them in a slow waltz around the kitchen. 

“I’m glad you like her,” Joe says after a while, “I bet it helped that she brought apology wine and complimented your cooking.”

“The way to my heart is apology wine and complimenting my cooking.”   
“Ah, so that’s why you married me, then?”

“Exactly,” they smile stupidly at each other and Frank headbutts their legs, a clear sign that it’s time to stop dancing and go to bed. 


	4. Bad Days are for David Attenborough Documentaries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Storms are the actual worst, but everything's okay when you have a tubby Labrador to keep you company and a loving husband to text about the holiday to Tasmania you now absolutely have to go on.   
> Nicky has a flare up because of the weather, but he's gotten good at taking things a bit slow and not getting too frustrated at his body for having limits.

Chronic illnesses are weird. Some days, Nicky feels as functionally close to able bodied as he can ever imagine being. Other days though, there’s bad weather or a stress induced flare up, or just because flare ups. It’s impossible to predict when he’ll have a bad day or a good day so he’s gotten very good at rolling with the tides and just doing as much as he can manage on any given day. He’s extremely lucky that his job is so flexible and his family and friends are so understanding. It’s taken some time for him to feel comfortable asserting himself and standing his ground when it comes to not pushing himself, but he’s gotten there. 

Sometimes he can’t even do coffee at home. Other days, he and Quynh cycle down to Kinderdijk and spend the day wandering around the windmills. Usually he has to spend the next day in bed, but it’s worth it. He has to pick and choose his battles but he’s getting better at that every day.

On bad days, Nicky leaves his hearing aids on the bedside table and spends the day in a hoodie and pyjama pants. He won’t bother to get dressed until later in the day, and even then sometimes it’s a question of changing into fresh pjs instead of work clothes. He spends the bulk of bad days under a blanket on the couch with Frank lying on him. He can look after himself well enough, it’s mainly about keeping hydrated and making sure to actually eat something and then try and nap until the flare up subsides.

Joe usually leaves fairly early for work, so he often doesn’t know it’s a bad day unless Nicky texts him about it. Mostly, Nicky will text Joe, especially on days when he knows he isn’t up to cooking and would appreciate Joe bringing take away home with him after work. Joe usually texts him at lunch time anyway, to tell him whatever funny thing he’s learnt today or just about his students generally. Usually Nicky tells Joe about what work he’s gotten done and if he and Frank have been for a walk yet in return. On bad days though, Nicky just sends him a photo of Frank being cute or asks questions about Joe’s day. So Joe usually has an idea that things are less than ideal, but unless Nicky brings it up, he rarely pushes.

* * *

Today’s a bad day. 

Joe’s already gone by the time Nicky wakes up properly, and he’s glad for it. As much as he loves his husband, sometimes he doesn’t want to be seen like this. It’s going to storm later, he can just tell. His joints are stiff and achy and his head feels heavy with it. Frank’s sitting up by the bed and his tongue lolls out happily when he notices that Nicky is awake. Nicky grimaces a little at the effort sitting up takes but pats the bed beside him - he won't be able to get up properly for a while yet, so Frank may as well hop up for cuddles. The weight of a slightly tubby labrador on his chest is grounding and Frank’s fur is soft under hand. It soothes the trembling feeling Nicky sometimes gets when everything flares up at once and after a while of just laying there quietly, Nicky gently pushes at Frank to let him know he needs to get down. 

Frank follows him through the house as he goes about his - much reduced - morning routine. Put a second pair of socks on and find a hoodie, brush teeth, stare blankly into fridge and drink a cup of tea instead of having breakfast. Decide to have a bath, but later, once there’s more energy.

It’s a constant comfort, Frank by his side, leaning against his legs whenever he pauses. He makes an effort to pat Frank’s ears whenever he thinks to, thanking him for the much needed support. Frank’s well trained, more of an emotional support animal than a proper service dog, but he does know certain commands and behaviours that help negate some of the more difficult elements of Nicky’s disability. The comfort and affection he’s getting currently are more emotional support than anything, but it’s enough to get him to actually get out of bed and make it through his morning routine and onto the couch, where he’ll spend the rest of the day. 

He puts on the tv, muting it out of habit and putting on a nature documentary that he can absently watch while he waits for it to storm. It’s the waiting that’s the worst. Once it’s stormed, the pressure on his head and joints will ease off and he’ll probably be able to get some work done, but for now, it’s a question of keeping warm and waiting it out.

He’s on his third David Attenborough documentary of the morning when the storm finally breaks. He’s watched David Attenborough talk about polar bears, lightning bugs and palytipi, and he’s managed to eat a slice of toast with the jam he made the other day. The cinematography of nature documentaries is always soothing, a balm for when he feels particularly weary. He reaches for his phone to send Joe a text, knows Joe will be thinking of him when he notices the storm.

“We should go to Tasmania next year.”

“Watching David Attenborough again, love?”

“Always.”

“Alright then, we’ll go to Tasmania - in their summer though, you wouldn’t like the cold.”

“Yeah.” Nicky hums, thinking about it. A few weeks for just the two of them, some hiking and lots of good food - it’ll be blissful.

“How’s the storm treating you?”

“It’s okay - I have Frank here, he’s helping lots. I think I’m going to have a bath later.”   
“Habibi, you cannot tell me these things while I am at work. I will not be able to focus.”

“So sorry, please forget I said I was going to have a nice long bath and be missing you.” 

Nicky smiles. In spite of the aches and pains and the frustration at having to take today slowly, Joe always, always, cheers him up. 

“Nile is about to come in for a meeting, Nicolo - behave.”

Nicky smiles into the throw pillows he’s propped up against and texts Joe that he loves him and to say hi to Nile from him. He’s only met Nile a few times but they’ve gotten along really well so far and Joe absolutely adores her, is constantly telling Nicky about how brilliant her thesis is.

Nicky puts his phone back on the coffee table and scritches absently at Frank’s ears. The storm shouldn’t last too long according to his weather app and once it’s done he’ll heat up some leftovers, and then have a cup of tea in the bath.

* * *

After a morning of feeling every one of your joints sitting just slightly out of place, a bath is a truly magical thing. He wraps his hair up in a towel and decides not to bother shaving, mind already back on work. He’d put a mix of rosemary and lavender oil in the bath and everything just feels clearer and easier to process now. It’s a combination of the storm breaking and feeling clean again, but the lingering scent of herbs helps. Brain fog is a frustratingly real thing and it drives Nicky insane when he knows that the thoughts are just out of his reach, slipping away as he grabs for them. 

He won’t do anything huge for work today, maybe just proofread some stuff and reorganise a bit of research for the book he’s working on. But spending some time at his desk every day makes him feel better about the project he’s working on. It makes it feel far more manageable if he chips away at it slowly and surely. He’s writing about how the development of modern French cuisine was a direct result of the French Revolution. He’s greatly enjoying how much it pisses Booker off when he makes comments about how la cuisine d’Ancien Regime seems vastly superior to the Post Revolutionary cuisine. He doesn’t actually have a strong opinion either way, he just enjoys the look of absolute fury on Booker’s face when he has a particularly awful take on French culture. 

He’s got most of the research for his chapter on Escoffier done, and he thinks if he spends some time shuffling it around today, he can probably start writing it tomorrow.

He hums to himself as he makes a cup of peppermint tea, the fourth of today and definitely not the last, and Frank leads the way to their home office, expectantly waiting for Nicky to catch up.

They settle into place at Nicky’s desk, Nicky propping up a throw cushion to support his back, and Frank settling down against the side of his chair, chewing on his latest soft toy. Frank tends to ruin them quickly but neither Joe nor Nicky can begrudge the expense of buying yet another stuffed rabbit for Frank. 

As Nicky gets into the swing of moving his research around in order to structure his argument, he can feel the thud of Frank’s tail against his chair. He takes a moment to glance down and appreciate how Frank is practically smiling.

“Me too Frank,” he says aloud, feeling the contentment that emanates from Frank and resonating with it. The sun has chased away the morning’s storm and while there’s still some lingering discomfort, Nicky’s feeling decidedly better now.

Joe will be home soon enough and they’ll have cheese and crackers while they debate what to do for dinner and debrief about their days. Sometimes, Joe will bring Nile home for dinner with him. Neither of them believe that Nile is getting enough good homemade meals since she’s a PhD student and all her free time must be spent in the library. Joe won’t bring Nile over on bad days though. Even if Nicky does adore Nile, he’s hesitant even to see Quynh and Andy when he’s having a bad day. He knows, logically, that they know that he’s not always well, and they wouldn’t care if he can’t make dinner and be involved in the conversation because he’s struggling, but getting his brain to actually deal in logic isn’t always feasible.

* * *

Nicky finishes up with the paragraph of research he’s been tidying up and saves it to like six different places - paranoid about losing the work he’s managed to get done. 

He yawns a little before stretching and glancing down at Frank, “Do you want to play catch?”

Joe will take Frank out for a walk later, probably took him on his morning run too, but Nicky can sit in one of the chairs outside and throw a ball for Frank to make sure he gets some exercise throughout the day. It’s definitely not the most active work, looking after Nicky on a slow day, and Frank is perfectly tubby already, he really should get some running in. 

They’re still outside when Joe gets home and Nicky calls Frank and heads inside once he notices the kitchen lights turning on. It’s a handy way of telling that Joe has gotten home when he doesn’t have his hearing aids in.

He has put his right hearing aid in though. Sometimes their neighbour, Tineke, likes to say hi over the fence and he likes talking to her. She often jokes that they have to yell really loudly at each other or turn their hearing aids up to chat, but she also passes homegrown vegetables over the fence. She’s got grandkids who are his age but live overseas so he thinks she sees them as substitutes sometimes. It’s nice, his family feel very far away in Italy sometimes, and Joe’s even further away, mostly in Tunisia, so having Tineke fuss over them and knit them socks at Christmas time helps stave off the homesickness they both get sometimes.

Rotterdam is home for both of them now, their little family that they’ve built is here. It’s him and Joe and Frank and the house that they’ve made a home, and Andy and Quynh and the chaos they bring. It’s also Booker and his wife and son, and the bookshop they live above. Nicky thinks it might even be Nile and her - roommate? girlfriend? - something, Jay. Maybe one day it will be him, Joe, Frank and a few children, but that’s a few years away still. They’ve talked about adopting, but it’ll be tricky with their dual citizenship and Nicky’s disability. He pushes the thought aside for now and goes inside to Joe, who greets him with an enthusiastic, but gentle, embrace - as if he hasn’t seen Nicky in weeks, rather than only a day.

“Hello, hayati,” Nicky murmurs, smiling against Joe’s beard.

“How are you feeling?”

“Better, si.” Nicky doesn’t particularly want to focus on how hard the morning had been, would much rather talk about the work he got done and what Joe has been up to. Joe seems to sense that, because he drops it and starts telling Nicky about how Nile’s thesis is coming along, and what shenanigans his first year art history students had gotten up to. Nicky leans against the counter and watches Joe talk, admiring the way he laughs with his whole body. They’ve been together for years now, and still, Nicky falls in love with Joe every single day.


	5. Our Hearts Beat in Time with the Hearth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nicky makes bread and muses about his favourite winter rituals. Frank also gets a bath.

It’s mid-afternoon and winter is finally fading. There’s even a swath of sunlight falling across the kitchen floor at four pm. Frank has helpfully sprawled out in the exact middle of it, exactly halfway between the kitchen bench and the island. Nicky is endeavouring to make bread, and Frank is endeavouring to be perfectly in the way until Nicky stops making bread and cuddles him instead. Frank has won this game a fair few times - has even managed to get a flour hand print right on his head from Nicky trying to pat him before realising that his hands are covered in flour from kneading the dough. Nicky had scrubbed at the mark with a damp tea towel but Frank definitely needs a bath now, something that Nicky is hoping can wait till Joe gets home from the gallery. He doesn’t fancy trying to wrangle thirty-five kilos of enthusiastic wriggly dog into the tub on his own. So for now, the hand print stays.   
  
The bread isn’t anything special, not historical or particularly complex. It’s just bread. Nicky has always had a soft spot for bread making though. He loves the whole ritual, how there’s plenty of time to rest and get stuck into a novel along the way. He loves the way it fills the house with that specific warm bread smell as it proofs, sweet and warm enough to tell everyone that great things are happening in the bowl on the counter.   
  
It’s warming up slowly, but it is still cold enough in the evenings for big bowls of soup, held up close to their faces as they tuck socked feet together and grumble at the heating - even though it’s working just fine. Winter rituals are some of Nicky’s favourite rituals. Even if by and large, winter is bad for his body, it is good for his soul. Besides, wearing an extra jumper and an extra two pairs of socks is worth it for the glee of getting mulled wine and bitterballen and watching Quynh and Joe fall over as they skate at the open air rink that always pops up in the park. Andy usually stays off the ice with him, had a few horse riding accidents when she was younger, enough that she says her old bones ache in the cold. She’s happier with mulled wine in hand, standing with him and watching the loves of their lives fall over and laugh brightly.   
  
Soup making is one of the best winter rituals though. Watching the dregs of the pantry become a hearty meal is something that Nicky has always found somewhat magical. He’s of the opinion that all soup should be accompanied by the correct kind of bread too. There’s ingredients for a simple root vegetable and barley soup in the pantry, so he’s throwing together a simple loaf of bread - leaning into the medieval peasant feel of the soup. It’s an easy recipe, enough to make two loaves and he’ll bake one tonight, and leave the rest of the dough to proof for another three days in the fridge. It will be a perfect midweek pick me up and will hopefully assuage the inevitable midweek panic when they realise they’re out of just about everything in the pantry and haven’t had time to go to the Albert Heijn.   
  
Nicky knocks the dough back down into the bowl and covers it with a tea towel that Booker gave them. He smiles at the sight of it, the spines of French classic books all along the back, legible enough when he pulls the fabric taut over the bowl. He puts the dough in a warm spot to proof, and sighs at the sight of Frank looking like something out of Middle-earth with his white hand print on the Labs chocolate fur. 

“We really should give you a bath now, but Joe will be home soon.”   
  
Nicky curls up with his book, content to pass the time waiting for Joe with a novel. He hasn’t managed to get very far through this one, has had to keep putting it down to focus on other things, but he’s enjoying it so far. He’s letting himself get lost in the elegant descriptions of Ceylon when Frank leaps up and starts wagging his tail - Joe is home. Nicky had put his hearing aids on the coffee table and now he scoops them up, getting sorted and switching   
them on just as Joe walks in from the entryway, curly hair wind tousled and slightly damp from the ever present Dutch rain. Nicky stretches a little, putting his book down again and leaning up for a kiss when Joe is done unwinding his scarf.

“Hello love,” Joe murmurs, “Hello Frank -” 

He pulls back and looks at Frank properly. Nicky has to stifle a laugh at Joe’s bewildered expression but keeps his face angelically blank, facade almost breaking when Frank looks equally innocent.

“Nicolò, why have you made our dog an orc?”

“He wanted cuddles,” Nicky says, and shrugs, like that’s enough to explain everything.

“Well, I suppose that explains it.”

“Yes.”

“And you want help giving him a bath I suppose?”

“Yes.” 

* * *

  
  
Twenty minutes later, the two of them are sitting on the bathroom floor, laughing so hard they can barely breathe, absolutely drenched. Frank’s tail is wagging so hard that he’s creating miniature tsunamis and he barks happily at the attention they’re lavishing on him. The huge bathtub they put in is wonderful for a number of reasons. It’s comfortable and accessible even on bad days for Nicky, it fits both of them easily, but most importantly, it’s Frank proof. He can’t get in without help, which means he can’t jump in with them when they’re having a bath, but it also means he can’t jump out without help. This theoretically minimises the amount of water that gets everywhere. _Theoretically._  
  
In practice, however, everything ends up soaked anyway and the bread over proofs and they end up having to change into their pyjamas early because everything they were wearing now needs to go into the washing machine. And Joe wonders why Nicky isn’t willing to give Frank baths alone.   
  
It’s a good half an hour after Nicky had planned to shape the loaf and let it go through a secondary proof, but neither of them is wildly hungry yet so it isn’t the end of the world. He halves the dough, Joe draped around his back like a limpet, murmuring soft things about how his love for Nicky is like the bread Nicky so loves to bake, ever growing and changing, but so warm and sweet and reminiscent of home. It’s a physical inconvenience, but Joe’s words make Nicky buzz with warmth and he can’t bring himself to protest, instead turning his head to kiss Joe’s cheek. It’s an unspoken response, “I love you too, I’m making the bread because I love you. Every bite is my love for you made whole.”   
  
Once the bread has been shaped and left to proof again, the rest put away in the fridge, they sit at the island, chopping boards pressed side by side as they divide up the ingredients between them. Joe gets the turnip, the parsnips and the carrots. Nicky gets the onions, garlic and potatoes. He’s already set the stock, spices and herbs on the counter next to the stove. It’s peasant food, but it’s hearty and comforting, and it freezes well. Nicky finds having at least two meals pre-cooked and kept in the freezer somehow comforting. He loves cooking, loves spending almost an hour in the kitchen to prepare a meal from scratch, but he doesn’t always have the energy or the will to do so. So having food on hand for tired days is important. He’ll make a double meal at least once a week and stick the leftovers in the freezer for a rainy day.   
  
Joe preheats the oven before coming to sit down next to Nicky, gently elbowing him over so they can share the counter space better.   
“How was the Kunsthal?”

“Same as usually - you know how the first years feel about expeditions to the gallery,” Joe likes to take his first year students to the Kunsthal towards the end of the semester, to better frame how the art they’ve been talking about is framed in the real world. How the physical space of the gallery can be used to explore the hundreds of years of art history in action. Nicky nods along, not too surprised by the story Joe is telling. They spend a fair amount of time at the galleries in Rotterdam. They’re a perfect walk from their house and a nice way to spend an otherwise slow afternoon. He’s cut everything but the onions and frowns at them slightly, he always cries when he cuts onions. He can’t help it. Joe always offers to cut them instead, but Nicky is stubborn. Stubborn about a lot of things but especially this. 

“Do you want me to-”

“No.”

“I didn’t even finish asking, habibi.”

“The answer is still no - I can cut a few onions.”

“But you shouldn’t have to.”

It’s an old argument, had more for the fun of having it again than for the purposes of actually arguing. The point isn’t that maybe this time Nicky will cave, the point is that Nicky very firmly will not cave, but Joe will sigh affectionately and kiss his shoulder anyway. In turn, Nicky will look quietly smug and rest his cheek on the top of Joe’s head. That will last all of three minutes before Nicky starts sniffling and insisting that nothing is wrong at all.   
  
Joe goes back to telling Nicky about what one of the first years said about the way in which the Old Masters are treated with a reverence that they don’t entirely deserve and Nicky is focused on nodding along and not blinking too hard at the onions. There’s only two of them, why are they so powerful? It is incredibly unfair that nature should have such a hold over him. He can’t help it though, he has to blink fiercely and sniffle and Joe immediately breaks off mid-sentence. Nicky isn't looking at him, but he knows that if he was, Joe would be grinning broadly, amused at Nicky’s stubbornness.

“Am I really boring you to tears tonight, Nicolò? Surely the Kunsthal isn’t that tedious?”

“No, no. It’s fine. I’m fine.”

“I can’t bear to see you cry.” It should be tender and intimate when Joe says that, especially with how he kisses Nicky’s cheek softly, but Nicky can feel the shape of his laugh as he does and so he knocks his shoulder into Joe’s chest, glowering a little. It’s all in good fun though and when Nicky cries his way through the rest of the onions, Joe tells the rest of his story in such an exaggeratedly sombre way that Nicky almost gives himself the hiccups laughing.   
  
Nicky wipes his eyes dry on a clean tea towel and gives Joe an astoundingly pathetic look, perfected from years of marriage and matched only by Frank in his ability to make Joe melt. 

“Ah my love,” Joe says, knowingly, “the way you look at me isn’t fair.”

“No one ever said love was fair,” Nicky counters, flipping on the burner and starting to sauté the onions and garlic. Joe just watches him, constantly enchanted by his ridiculous husband. It doesn’t take long before everything is happily simmering away in the pot and the bread is in the oven, leaving them free to focus on each other instead. Joe is standing at the stove, stirring the soup intermittently, and listening while Nicky sits on the counter and tells him about the novel he’s reading. Joe picked it up for him the other day and has been curious to know if Nicky will like it. Nicky will like it, he always likes the novels Joe picked for him, it’s one of the reasons he agreed to marry Joe. Well, that and the   
whole, Joe being the love of his life thing, but being married to someone who knows how to pick a good book for you is a singular blessing. He’s only fifty pages in, but it definitely has potential. Any novel that challenges traditional marriage narratives and lets its characters contain multitudes is a good novel in Nicky’s book. It does also help that the descriptions in this one are so lovingly rendered.   
  
They pass the rest of the time chatting about that, and soon enough the kitchen fills with the smell of fresh bread. They migrate closer and closer to the oven as the timer ticks down and when it finally goes off, Nicky pulls the bread from the oven like he’s unveiling a prized painting. It’s a simple round loaf, but it’s beautiful enough to sit on a plinth. Perfectly golden, with a crisp crust and a hollow sound that promises a perfectly cooked centre. Neither of them particularly wants to wait for the soup to be done anymore. They wait though, letting the bread rest on a wooden cutting board and tasting the soup every few minutes, waiting impatiently for it to be done.   
  
Soon enough it is, and Nicky ladles out two bowls while Joe cuts into the bread. There’s butter on the table and they sit down opposite each other, feet tangling under the table and Frank lying between them. The bread is perfect, the soup is perfect, the evening is shaping up to be perfect. Nicky watches for a moment as Joe tastes the bread, watching as he takes the first bite, watching him bite into the labour of Nicky’s love. Joe beams at him, squeezing his hand over the table. “Magnificent, like always.” Nicky’s lips curve into a small smile, evidently pleased. Every time a loved one tries his cooking and approves, it feels a bit like his love has been tasted and found to be the perfect bite. He scoops up a spoonful of soup for himself, blowing on it and letting it fill him with warmth. The heart of a home is in the kitchen and when they cook a meal together, their hearts are beating in time with the heart of the hearth. 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on tumblr @wandering-scholar-lad, please come yell at me about these dorks


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